r 



— 4. 
I 



The Cry of Defeat 



Bv LISI DE CIPRIANI 




Class ^pS-a_s:ii5 

Book UliS-CJ' 

Copyright N", 13-0^ 



COFYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE CRY OF DEFEAT 



LISI DE CIPRIANI 



Goy Ittel hooky go litel myn tregedicy 
Ther God thy maker yet, er that he dye. 
So sende might to make in som comedte 

Chaucer. 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorhatn Press 

1906 



Copyright igo6 by Lisi De Cipriani 



All Rights Reserved 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

on 29 1906 



0^ 



yrlfht Entry 



A XXcfiN*. 



CLASS 

COPY Bf / 






The' Gorham Press, Boston 



His was the sweetest life that I have known. 



TO 

THE MEMORY 

OF 

ALESSANDRO LEONE De' CIPRIANI 



CONTENTS 



I. THE CRT OF DEFEAT ... 7 

II. ^ORDS OF LOVE AND SORROW . 27 

III. SONGS OF OTHERS . . . 51 

IV. A CURIOUS WORLD ... 69 
V. CRUMBS 85 



My ftght IS fought^ I welcome the defeat. 
Which brings the rest I have yearned for so loni 



THE CRT OF DEFEAT 



THE CRY OF DEFEAT 

Since I could earn my rest but through defeat, 
Defeat is welcome , welcome without shame, 
For it has been a long and valiant fight 
Fought with no weapon unmeet for my hand. 
A woman's fight a fight you may deem lost 
Because it ends in sorrow and in death. 
And yet to me is worth all victories, 
Since the defeat itself disproves the words 
With which you vainly tried to slur my name. 
You dare not fling your slander at me now, 
Now that you see me die, true to my faith, 
The faith that others broke, true to my race, 
The proud patrician race that knows no fear 
And never stoops to treason though betrayed. 
The glory of defeat may yet be mine, 
And so I gladly welcome the defeat 
Which brands only the victors with disgrace. 

March 30 



VAE! VAE! VICTORS 



Cain was the first victor when his mother 
Found her second bom dead in the field. 
Blessed be the victim, his young brother 
Whom the hand of God refused to shield. 

Judas was a victor when Lord Jesus 
Hung a hallowed victim from the cross, 
Ever will a wondering woe seize us 
When we weigh his winnings by his loss. 

Cry out Vae ! Vae ! Victors ! ye defeated, 
The sad world shall echo your refrain, 
Till your Vae! Vae! Victors! long repeated 
Scourges ev'ry Judas, ev'ry Cain ! 

April 6 



The greatest gift that earnest work has brought 
Has not been knowledge, but humility, 
Humility which teaches to forgive 
And holds back judgment with a gentle hand. 

I know at least that I can never know 

Enough to judge mankind whose words and deeds 

Will ever hold a riddle I can't solve. 

And conscious of my blindness, tremblingly, 

I feel my way in humble ignorance. 

I know I do not know. Thank God for that. 

April 24 



10 



JUDGE NOT FOR ME 

Greatest forgiveness shall come, to all men from 
complete understanding. 

Fathom your knowledge with truth when usurping 
the judges sad power. 

Face then both knowledge and truth, face them 
solemnly, ask of your conscience 

Whether you know and can judge. And the an- 
swer will come full of sadness. 

Full of the sadness of life, that deep sadness beyond 
comprehension : 

" Verily judge not uncalled for, but rather give 
infinite pity, 

' ' Heavily falls any judgment, and moulds human 
life with the verdict, 

' ' Hold back that verdict, you know not. Hidden 
from you are the causes, 

' ' Hidden by time in the deeds of the dead ones 
who doomed us unknowing, 

' ' Staining the sons of their race with the undying 
sin of their fathers, 

" Dulling perception of right, ere we yet had on 
earth an existence. 

" Greatest of all human tasks is the task of the 
righteous in judgment, 

' ' Greatest of all human wrongs is the passing of 
unrighteous judgment, 

' ' Judge not, or judged ye shall be by your stan- 
dard of ignorant blindness, 

' ' On your own head you may call the same deal- 
ing in right retribution. " 

Judge not for me, I beseech you. I judge not, in 
wondering sorrow, 

I seek the truth that brings justice — justice tem- 
pered with love and with mercy. 

March 30 



11 



MY DAWN 

To E. J. J. 

Vou sowed the seed — and overnight it grew and 

bore fruit. 

March 1, 1906 

A great French writer tells a little tale, 

Which sums up all the tragedy of my life, 

So let me tell it here in simple words : 
"..1 
Far on the Alps, in safe inclosure bound, 
A little goat lived on from day to day. 
Beyond were freedom, space, and happiness, 
And the grim wolf, the bearer of sure death. 
The little goat leaped out into the space. 
Willing to pay for freedom with her life, 
To taste of joy and pay the price of death. 
She knew the struggle was beyond her strength, 
And the grim wolf foredoomed her conqueror. 
And when they met she never held the hope 
Of victory, but only longed and prayed 
That she might live to fight until the dawn. 
And thus die bravely, though she had to die. " 

A simple tale, perhaps sad to me alone. 
I too once left the shelter of my home. 
Yet not for joy or freedom, but stern need. 
I, too, can see no hope of victory, 
Yet, like that feeble creature, I can fight, 
And hold my own, perhaps, until the dawn. 
That little creature fought one single night, 
Through many years my struggle has gone on. 
But dawn is near, dawn that will show the truth 
And let me die in peace, its glorious light 
Bringing my death — yet justice to my name. 

March 3 



12 



Silence has lain like lead upon my soul. 
I thought I could not speak, lest I accuse, 
By merely showing need of self-defense. 
I thought that every woman in her need 
Would find defense, at last, from every man 
Who had full knowledge that her name was wrong- 
ed. 
I thought that all who knew the truth at last 
Would fight my fight, telling this truth they knew 
And if they shunned their task in selfish fear 
Leaving me to face shame and death alone, 
The world would judge them with harsh bitter 

scorn, 
But I mistook the world — and that is all. 

I'm of another race, foreign, you say. 
Yes, we have other views, of right and wrong 
If yours is progress, God protect my land. 
And keep it back forever and for aye. 

Of all I love, but one is left to me, 

And he a memory. Ah, those alone 

We claim forever whom death saves from change. 

He died for honor, died of his own hand, 

Dear foreign boy, thinking he saved his name. 

His brothers' name, from undeserved disgrace. 

A fool, you'll say. A dear and noble fool. 

Dearer and nearer to me day by day. 

None claimed that he deserved his punishment 

When he was sacrificed. A boyish strife. 

Worthy of light reprimand, why that is all ! 

'Twas his commander's whim, a foolish whim. 

And so they sent him to the regiment 

A common soldier, punished and disgraced. 

But he had brothers, officers themselves, 

Whom he could meet no longer as his peers. 



13 



And the distress which burned his very soui 
Would have been doubled as he saw it shared 
By those who held him dearest in the world. 
And thus to save his brothers, save his name, 
He shot himself straight through the heart and 

died. 
Of all of us the one we least could spare, 
The worthiest one to bear our ancient name. 
All gifts which nature lavishes on man 
Seemed his, for beauty, strength, and gentleness 
In body and mind united unsurpassed. 
And he was good, he gave his best to all. 
Loved by his peers and worshiped by the poor, 
His was the sweetest life that I have known. 
He wrote before he died : * ' God who knows all, 
' ' Knows I do well, and I go back to Him. 
' ' I know that I am much too good for men. " 

I cannot claim I am too good for men. 
Yet I can say men are too bad for me. 
Like you, my brother, I die for a whim, 
One moment's whim, unreasoned and unwise. 
No man did I love ever more than you. 
Yet, if to see you again means further life, 
I pray that we may never meet again. 
I can't conceive existence without strife, 
I can't conceive existence without pain, 
And I want peace and rest, I want to die, 
I want the death that brings the end of all. 

Yet, dearest, my poor ashes come to you. 
Away from this hard land, land of my wrong, 
The land which after years of eager gifts. 
Of love and work unstinted and unspared, 
Makes me rejoice I'm of another race. 
And foreign, always foreign to the end. 

March 5 



14 



I sometimes wonder . . When in afterlife, 

Wounded and weary from the stony path, 
We meet the RuHng God and from him claim 
A full reward for having borne life's ills, 
Will he then tell us : " Fools ! I left you free, 
' ' I gave you life to hold or cast away, 
' ' Your suffering helped none, you did no good 
' ' By making the world sadder with your woe. 
' ' It was a foolish thing for you to stay. 
' ' vSee, death is ever ready, kind, and true^ — 
" Why did you cling to life and not seek death?'' 

April 24 



15 



DEATH IN LIFE 

Her life of struggle reached the height of fame, 
The fame which seemed a mockery to grief, 
And heralded that grief unto the world, 
Threw it as food to morbid, curious men. 
And left her comfortless, even denied 
A woman's right to nurse that grief alone, 
Until the day might come which brought the 

strength 
To lay it silently in a deep grave. 

To her my heart went out in pity and love, 
But I dared speak no word, the eyes alone 
Could use full eloquence and leave no wound. 
Was it her greatness that could understand 
All that the spoken word could never hold ? 
She answered sadly, saddest for the smile 
That lit the passive anguish of her eyes : 
* ' We die but once dear child, and I have died, 
' ' My life can hold no sorrow after this. " 

If you were with me, you would understand. 
Dear woman of my race, I could speak out. 
Sure of your ever ready sympathy, 
And tell you : ' ' You were right, we die but once, 
' ' And there can be no sorrow after death. 
' ' Your fate was kindest, for the work it left, 
' * But from me they took all, love, life and work, 
" Work which might help me live your living 
death. " 

March 28 



16 



MY CALVARY 

To A. Tastu, the woman who^ in a?iother day^ in 
another land, in another tongue^ spoke these words 
before me. 

Lord, on the stony path why force us all ? 

If Christ has paved the way, He knew His goal. 

We know not, only see the barren waste. 

He bore the bitter pain to save the world, 

Wash the deep stain of long amassed sin. 

Dragging ever useless victims 

The vain burden of our grief, 
Spare us, good Lord. 

Yet friendship sleeps. The soul, sad unto death, 
In the long night of anguish and of watch, 
Has the presentiment of its own fate. 
Broken in this strange strife an angel's hand 
We need to soothe with love our gelid brow. 

Spare us then this useless torment, 
And stave off this bitter cup, 

Spare us, good Lord. 

Heard or unheard, our voice pleads all in vain, 
Down to the dregs the bitter cup we drink, 
Such is, O Lord, thy unrelenting will. 
But leave us solitude, let not the crowd 
Witness the sadness of our falling tears. 

If the traitor leads them to us, 

Save us save us from his kiss. 
Spare us, good Lord. 



17 



Peace, son of man, the hour has struck at last. 
When at the price of farthings thou art sold. 
No friend remains, the best-beloved fled first. 
When love betrays, what will those do who hate ? 
My judge himself has joined their cries of death. 

Now desertion and injustice 

And oblivion are my lot. 
Spare us, good Lord. 

They bow their head, and feigned respect hides 

scorn. 
Their crown leaves marks of thorns upon my brow, 
Vain is the scepter they would have me wield, 
Their purple falls around me a mockery 
Covering wounded limbs, bleeding to death. 
Let this royal irony, 
In sheer mercy — have an end. 
Spare us, good Lord. 

Unto the place of torture , O my Lord , 

Shall I drag staggering my heavy cross? 

My strength cannot hold out in this hard task. 

Alas, no hand, prompted by charity, 

vShields my drawn features with a kindly veil. 

My soul faints beneath the burden 

Of this calvary of shame. 
Spare us, good Lord. 

My thirst is quenched with vinegar and gall, 
The light withdrew when my eyes Heaven sought. 
Before me, for my vestments, they cast lots, 
And the sharp nails that pierced the fragile cloth 
Pierce through my flesh and hold it to the cross. 

From the lance my side is bleeding. 

Is there more for me to fear? 
Spare us, good Lord. 



18 



THE RHYME OF REMORSE 

"6'// rimorso aciitissomo e ferocey 
Stecchetti: Inno deW Odio. 

When in the long sought sleep of death I lie, 

Under the heavy sod, 

And over me arises stern and high 

The holy cross of God, 

The slumber which to me brings blessed peace 
Shall waken your remorse, 
A gnawing, fierce remorse which will not cease 
In its relentless course. 

When I am sheltered by the tomb's white stone 
Regret shall hold you fast, 
Leave you no peace in life till you atone 
For deeds done in the past, 

Atone for the sad treason and the wrong 
That bought my bitter death, 
And face you mercilessly just as long 
As you on earth draw breath. 

You had no reason for your foolish hate, 
No reason to destroy, 
My single happiness allowed by fate. 
My life's one transient Joy. 

And whilst you struck at all my heart loved best, 

My hand was chained and bound, 

I suffered, helpless, till life granted rest 

In the cool, quiet ground. 

You shall be branded for that blow you gave, 
With lasting, stinging shame, 
You shall remember you dug out my grave 
Each time you hear my name ! 

April 6 

19 



DAGLI AMICI MI GUARDI IDDIO CHE DAI 
NEMICI MI GUARDO 10 

The Greatest Educator, they called him, of his day, 
Declared that Woman was my friend. / wonder- 
ed in what way. 

The trouble was my training, my foreign point of 

view: 
I wanted friends to love me, friends loyal, brave, 

and true. 

Friends should backbite and slander, wreck work, 

and love, and life. 
It makes your soul grow nobler, the suffering and 

strife. 

Whilst, if they spare you sorrow, you do not grow 

at all. 
And in your next existence you're everlasting 

small. 

So now I stand convicted, she sought a noble end, 
And I admit most sadly ! * ' That Woman is my 
friend.'' 

Oh Lord, forgive mine enemies, they know not 

what they do. 
I'll do your bidding and forgive, and I shall bless 

them, too. 

I grant they do not make me grow, through suffer- 
ing to grace. 

But then, it scarcely seems worth while for just 
the little space 

Of time, my strenuous friend has left, until my 

poor life ends. 
Good Lord, forgive mine enemies — protect me 

from my friends ! 

February 27 



20 



You build him monuments in words and stone, 
But you let live the deed which mars his fame, 
The Judas-deed of treachery and wrong, 
The deed which marks the man who broke his 

word, 
The deed which marks the man who broke his 

trust, 
Who bartered justice for expediency. 

It was for him you should have righted wrong, 
Not leave his sin to live on like a curse. 
No idle curse flung out to come back home, 
The greater curse which flays the memory 
And eats into it worse than the disease 
Which gnawed into his flesh relentlessly, 
And which he fought so bravely, though in vain. 
I would not use the law, I would not lift 
My hand to injure one I'd sworn to love, 
And I would lift no hand against the dead. 
For one kind deed I can forgive this wrong, 
Forgive it fully, speak in his excuse. 
But that is little if the wrong lives on. 
I do not ask for life, nor care to live. 
But, though there be no value in my life, 
It is not well to have him cause my death. 

March 9 



Say not 'tis now his will — say he was rash 
And followed impulse sometimes recklessly, 
Or say that he was wrong, he sought the end 
And thought the end might justify the means, 
Say even he was not the man for truth, 
That honor was to him a foreign word. 
When he the judge, the self-appointed judge, 
Could barter justice for expediency. 



21 



But, grant for his sake he did not foresee, 
The endless sorrow and the final death. 
And do not claim that he would, knowing all, 
Not strive to undo the wrong — undo the wrong 
Which carried far, I think, beyond his will, 
And with the seal of death becomes a crime. 
I charge him with mere wrong, you with a crime, 
And that I think unjust, do what you like, 
But do not claim that it is now his will. 

March 11 



Let not the sacrifice be all in vain, 

Let not my life be lost in idle waste. 

Sell me not for a farthing, let the price 

Be such to make me glad that it was paid. 

The day has come for sterner faith and right. 

Does not the very man you chose to rule 

Strive to impose his justice unalloyed? 

Does not his voice proclaim the reign of truth? 

I do not say this reign of truth has come. 

But it is heralded throughout your land, 

Whose conscience stirs uneasy in its sleep. 

There is no war without a loss of life. 

There is no victory without a cost, 

And I, a soldier's child, may not complain 

If death for others is to be my lot. 

You called me foreign. Ah, withdraw that word. 

I was not foreign, for I sought your best 

And brought my best unmeasured in return. 

What I rebelled against, you should disown. 

Or is it national, to break your faith ? . . . 

Enough of bitterness. What I claim now 

Enough of bitterness. What I claim now 

Is greater far than justice to myself. 



22 



You^^said : ' ' Not justice, but expediency. ' ' 

You said : ' ' JVe doom the woman, save the man!* 

It is 7iot just, but 'tis the way of the worlds 

And I reply — three times one of your own — 

Three times a graduate from your own halls — 

A voice you can't by rights refuse to hear: 

" Not that, not that, not that for very shame. " 

I cry shame on you for the damning words 

You used in self-defense. Open your eyes, 

See what they lead to. Learn that only truth 

Can help you win true greatness and true fame. 

You cannot doom the woman, spare the man, 

You cannot follow laws of any world 

That does not know of honor, justice, truth. 

You build on gold, it is called tainted gold, 

Yet you might hallow, purify this taint. 

But thus you bring new taint upon yourself. 

An odious taint, the crushing of the weak — 

Bartering justice for expediejicy. 

The day when my death falls upon your head 
Will you not see how wrong grows into crime? 
Then you must hear the words I have to say, 
None of your own more dearly bought the right : 
' ' The wave of truth and justice in your land 
' ' Beats at your walls — your gates forbid the flood. 
' ' Open your gates, let truth and justice in, 
' ' And thus atone at last for your cruel deed. " 

And if my death of this may be the means, 
Welcome, sweet death, I shall not die in vain. 

March 10 



23 



They know not what they do — that sums up all. 

It leaves me to regret and to forgive, 

But not to judge them harshly or reproach. 

Where lies the blame? If they don't understand, 

The fault should after all be mostly mine. 

I who have spent my life to train young minds 

To make their own the best of foreign thought. 

Stand helpless now. The book of my own life. 

Is written in a tongue I cannot teach, 

Is written in a tongue they cannot learn. 

Mine is the blame, mine, for they sought me not, 

I came to them, I came for my own need, 

I should have learned to bend my soul to theirs, 

I should have learned how to reveal this soul. 

The cause of failure lies within myself, 
I tried a task for which I was too weak, 
I should have known a woman of my race. 
Was never meant to face the world alone. 
I can teach nothing now that is not sad. 
And I can give them nothing that they need. 
My fight is fought, I welcome the defeat, 
Which brings the rest I have yearned for so long. 

March 25 



24 



DEATH 

Death only comforter, 
Death sweet deliverer, 
Hear thou my anguished cry, 
Come unto me ! 

Faith has rejected me, 
Hope has forsaken me, 
Life knows no charity, 
Come unto me ! 

Love is just tyranny, 
Friendship mere irony. 
Justice a mockery, 
Come unto me! 

All else withdraws from me. 
You must be true to me. 
One blessing left to me. 
Come unto me! 

Death truest comforter, 
Surest deliverer. 
Pity my suffering, 
Come unto me ! 

April 13 



25 



i 



Lord^ leave me love — the great, enduring k 
Which is hut life itself, that royally 
Gives out its best and asks for no return. 
Lords leave me love — 



WORDS OF LOVE AND SORROW 



TO MY BROTHER RICHARD 

I have loved others much, yet you alone 
Returned full measure for the love I gave. 
As I look back upon my lonely life, 
To you alone my grateful heart can say : 
* ' Dearest, the love you gave equalled my own, 
* ' Dearest, you loved me more than I deserved, 
* ' Dearest, in all the world you loved me best !" 

March 18 



29 



TO ELEONORA DUSE 

One perfect lull my storm tossed life has known, 

One moment's sunshine, exquisitely brief, 

That for the sullen background of dull grief 

More perfectly in warmth and radiance shone. 

As in a dream I felt the sweet relief 

When round me sheltering your arm was thrown, 

I forgot all in you, and you alone 

In my life's grief worn book filled one bright leaf. 

Your golden voice charmed sorrow into sleep. 

Brought calm content into my harrowed heart, 

Banished all care and forced me to forget. 

You gave a joy I never hoped to keep, 

I knew that we could only meet to part. 

But blessed be the moment when we met. 

April U 



'M) 



TO MY DAVID 

Your deed shall not be measured by success. 

Failure shall leave its value unimpaired. 

Indeed, speak not of failure, just because 

You may not quite accomplish your first end. 

You bring your warmth of human sympathy, 

You bring your faith in justice and in right, 

Where others say : " I can't !" you say : " I will !" 

Others: " 'Tis useless!" and you: "I begin!" 

Yes, you begin, and if you finish not, 

May I not see you laying down your arms. 

Keep a brave heart, and fight on to the end, 

Though 'tis an end that none may stave off long. 

Intangible, Goliath still looms up, 

Elusive and evasive — him indeed. 

You may not conquer, David, with your sling. 

But the sad loneliness, the bitter wrong 

Of having none to speak in my defense, 

None to speak out to enemies and friends, 

To help me clear my name and die in peace, 

Two cruel sorrows — loneliness and wrong — 

Two giants, David, worthy of your sling, 

Those you have conquered. May you conquer on, 

Bring the intangible Goliath low. 

And show that right is might, that justice is 

No foreign word, but one dear to your land. 

March 12 



31 



A TUSCAN'S JINGLES 

Flower o' the Frost, 
You blighted blossoms — he the life he crossed, 
Flower o' the Frost ! 

Flower o' the Frost, 
You both took your sweet will — counting no cost. 
Flower o' the Frost ! 

Flower o' the Frost, 
He stole your chill of death — my life is lost. 
Flower o' the Frost. 



33 



FLOWER OF MAY 

Flower of May, 
I stole your joy of vSpring and bade it stay, 
Flower of May ! 

Flower of May, 
The joy of Spring was brief and passed away, 
Flower of May ! 

Flower of May, 
Let one last joy of Spring bring my last day. 
Flower of Mav ! 



33 



FLOWER OF LIFE 

Flower of Life, 
Why bring me to this world of pain and strife, 
Flower of Life? 

Flower of Love, 
Why did you feign to come from God above. 
Flower of Love? 

Flower of Grief, 
Why make the reign of love and joy so brief, 
Flower of Grief? 

Flower of Peace, 
When will sweet death through you bring my 
release, 

Flower of Peace? 

Flower of Death, 
Call me to you, it hurts to draw life's breath, 
Flower of Death. 

Flower o' the Grave^ 

Take from me all the sorrow that life gave. 

Flower o' the Grave. 

March 27 



34 



You had my heart and I, dear love, had yours, 
In full exchange of perfect love and joy. 
Then you disdained the ownership of mine. 
I lost your heart, yet I gained not my own, 
My heart lost in the bloom of glorious love, 
The joyous harvest of its blessed fruit. 
What have you done with it, my supreme lord? 
Tell me, what have you done with my great gift? 
Like a poor child forsaken by its m'^ther, 
A poor, forsaken child without defense. 
You leave me alone to face this bitter life. 
You leave me alone, alone. And God sees all! 
Some day you, too, shall feel your loneliness, 
And on that day you shall see love again. 
Silence will meet your tardy call for love, 
Silence will fall around you, and you will dream, 
And dreaming you will knock at my closed door. 
And dreaming you will come again my friend. 
And they will tell you then : "She died, she died. " 
Sad and alone, who then will pity you ? 

February 28 
From the French of Mme. Desbordes- Valmore. 



35 



FAITH 

When Roland in the battle struck his friend, 
He was not met with anger, but pure faith : 
"You struck, sweet friend, because you could not 
see. " 

Blindness has fallen on you like a veil, 
A thick, black veil, which spite and malice wove, 
You could not see me, dearest, when you struck. 
I do not think you will regret the blow, 
I do not think that you will ever see, 
Indeed, I would not give you sight too late. 
But I lend no belief when told you know, 
I know you best, and I alone can judge, 
And even now in solemn faith I say : 
' ' You struck, sweet friend, because you could not 
see." 

March 7 



36 



JOY 

Sorrow has come from many, you alone 

Have ever brought me the full joy of life. 

The sorrow that you brought goes with the rest 

Forgiven and forgotten in the end. 

It hastened death? What of it? Was my life 

Something I cared for, something that I prized ? 

But the deep joy you gave stands all alone, 

And priceless to me, treasured in my heart. 

Thanks for this single joy my life has held, 

Thanks that you made me live before I died. 

And if the price of such joy be death, 
I do|not think I paid too great a price. 

March 7 



37 



FOREVER 

Through the great price I gladly paid, 
The willing sacrifice I made, 
My seal upon your soul I laid, 

Forever ! 

The time of waiting may be long, 
Yet, undismayed by passing wrong, 
Patience and tears make love's claim strong, 
Forever! 

I loved you best, I loved you last, 
With chains of love I hold you fast, 
And knit your future to your past, 
Forever ! 

April 4 



38 



SEMPER IDEM 

My life is yours to mar and make, 
My heart to cherish and to break, 
I will it so for Love's sweet sake. 
Semper idem! 

In joys that you alone can kill, 
In sorrows you alone can still, 
I bow submissive to your will. 
Semper idem! 

Now, when you sever the sweet tie 
Which holds my life, and bid me die. 
In joyous faithfulness I cry. 
Semper idem ! 

Aprii^ 5 



39 



SEMPER IDEM 

^'' Heredity presents some curious problems. "" 
From the Refiections of a Ph. D. 

Grim Ghibelelines, my fathers, you who chose 
As warcall Semper Idem, yours the blame 
If, stamping me your own in blood and name, 
Your ancient cry its spell upon me throws. 
When death has led me to you, men will claim 
That fate left me unchanged beneath its blows 
Glad in my gladness, woeful in my woes, 
In good and bad, alas, always the same. 
And if they say my ways were very set, 
Tenacious, stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, 
We'll grin and bear it, for it came from you. 
But should they say I quickly would forget, 
Was false and fickle, never the same long. 
We'll cry through seven heavens : ' ' 'Tis not true !' 

April 10 



40 



USURER FATE 

I bought my joy all reckless of the price, 
And now Usurer Fate holds me in a vice. 
Until I pay it ! 

His interest is wicked and extreme, 
And yet the joy was such, it does not seem 
Unfair to pay it ! 

Usurer Fate though your rates are too high. 
Let's have that deal again before I die ! 
I'll surely pay it ! 

My willingness to foot the bill is such, 
I'll nestle a plucked chicken in your clutch, 
Yet meekly pay it. 

But for my inexperience I'll atone, 
And never let you catch me all alone. 
At time to pay it. 

So call me quickly for another deal, 
Howe'er exorbitant your claim, I feel 
Ready to pay it. 

Charge a high interest, Usurer Fate, 
And if the joy it brings is just as great, 
I'll gladly pay it ! 

Apr II, 3 



41 



SONNET 

It is in somber earnest that I say 

My life lies in your hands, and you alone, 

Who through the laws of love made me your own, 

Can bid my weary soul struggle and stay. 

So close together our lots were thrown, 

Only one path through life before us lay, 

I thought to follow as you won your way, 

And into one, for me, our lives had grown. 

I gave up all, I needed none but you. 

Through you and love alone I learned to live. 

Through you and love alone I drew my breath. 

Since you could not stay mine, could not stay true, 

I now rejoice you do not strive to give 

Life without love, but leave me to my death. 

April 6 



42 



TO DANTE 

Man of a distant land, a distant day, 

Whom Ivove, the Lord of All, ruled with full force, 

You thought it meet to change your worldly 

course 
And bow submissive to Lord Love's sweet sway. 
You could not break his law without remorse, 
Nor could you simply fling his chains away, 
Because, perchance, you felt them wound and 

weigh, 
Nor could you laugh and jest by Love's dead corse. 
But we, alas, grow in another school, 
Learn lessons you could never understand, 
Learn to forget at Reason's beck and call, 
Learn not to bow to Love's eternal rule. 
To take no lasting pledges from his hand, 
And not to recognize him Lord of All. 

April 7 



43 



Yours first and yours forever, yours alone, 

A joyous eager gift, was the pure love 

Which all unshared, untouched awaited you. 

I hoped to hold your heart as you held mine, 

An empty hope which fate refused to grant, 

And so I gave my all for poor exchange. 

Yet, sweetest friend, if I could at my will 

Go back beyond the time you claimed me yours, 

I would not change this present for that past. 

I never would go back to those cold days 

Of stagnant, ever aching loneliness 

Void of unfathomed grief or solemn joy 

Days when the treasure gathered in my heart 

Lay all unspent — for there is none but you 

To whom I lavishly can give my best. 

Sweet is the love which reaps love in return, 

So dear a gift may never more be mine. 

But yet, may I be spared the final loss 

To be bereft of the great love I give. 

Two blessings any human heart may hold 
To love and to be loved, but of these 
The first one is the greatest and the best. 

April 24 



44 



THE LAST GIFT 

I'm dying, love, alone, always alone, 
Forsaken by the friends I've learned to spare, 
Forsaken by the kin I sadly want, 
Forsaken by you too for whom I yearn 
With all the yearning of a heart that breaks 
Over its want — and calls for you in vain. 

And from my solitude to friends and kin 
I can send naught but my last fond farewell. 
My earnest prayer that their dear lives be spared 
The tragic, barren suffering of mine. 

To you, dear heart, I leave a precious gift : 

The everlasting faith in woman's love, 

The supreme proof of which I brinfl^ in death. 

That love which death endows with lasting life. 

Sealing it with the seal which bars all change. 

Making it evermore part of yourself. 

The everlasting faith that you deserve 

This love which you once won, and which remains 

Unchanged, unlessened, though the hand of fate 

Has ruthlessly destroyed the tender tie 

Which bound me to you, and through you to life. 

The perfect faith that since you won such love 

There is no blessing human life may hold 

Which at your will is not within your reach. 

Take then my gift. If love and faithfulness 

Through their intensity could shape your life. 

Great were the joy and peace which you would 

know. 
Such peace and joy are not for me to give 
Yet I can bring you faith none can destroy, 
Faith in yourself and love for evermore. 

April 26 



45 



SONNET 

Life's day is gently fading to death's night 
The night of quiet rest within the tomb 
When, lo — I wonder, for the falhng gloom 
Seems sent to bring more radiance to love's light. 
And humbly grateful I accept my doom 
Rich with this sudden, unforeseen delight, 
For all is swept away from my glad sight 
Save love alone in radiant, perfect bloom. 
The light of Heaven from the night of Hell 
When that sweet light is ever beyond reach 
Must bring the damned soul its keenest pain. 
But I shall never want life's day again 
Love's blessed light is mine — God, I beseech 
Leave me in darkness till death makes me well. 

April 26 



46 



MAGIC 

In the times now long gone by 
When fond hearts beUeved in magic 
Many were the hidden arts, 
Many were the spells and charms 
Which could conquer time and distance, 
Which could conquer all love's ills. 

Sometimes 'twas a waxen image 

Which had cunningly been wrought 

In the likeness of your lover, 

Which when some weird spell was woven 

And some magic word was spoken 

Would bring back the fickle lover 

Ever faithful, ever true. 

Or it was a wondrous mirror 

Which would show you the beloved, 

Though wide lands should lie between you, 

High, high mountains, deep, deep seas. 

More than that could the magician 

Do for you with his weird art, 

He could call at his own pleasure 

From their cool and quiet grave 

Those that you had loved and lost. 

He could conquer time and distance, 

He could conquer all love's ills. 

In this day of doubt and science 
The fond heart finds no magician. 
The fond heart finds no weird arts 
Which will conquer time and distance, 

Which will conquer all love's ills. 
But love's spells are just as potent 
And love's charms are just as strong 



47 



Though no magic words be spoken 
And no waxen image wrought. 
I myself have found the secret 
Which will conquer time and distance, 
Which will conquer all love's ills. 

When I lie alone and quiet, 
Far from friends and far from kin, 
In the sacred, solemn silence 
Of the kindly, peaceful night, 
Then my soul begins its magic, 
And I see with my closed eyes 
All that my poor heart desires, 
And I feel in blissful stillness 
All that my poor heart may want, 
And I conquer time and distance. 
And I conquer all love's ills. 

One I love again is with me 
I can look into his eyes, 
Those dear eyes that ever haunt me 
Fond and trusting, deep and true. 
And I feel the tender touch 
Of the hand that used to lead me. 
And I feel the blessed shelter 
Of his strong, protecting arm. 
All I need for this is silence 
And unbroken loneliness. 
Then the joys of times gone by 
Fill the sacred, solemn night. 
And I bless the sleep that flees me 
And the loneliness which grants 
Such a bliss and such a joy : 
Though no magic word is spoken. 
Though no magic charm is woven. 
Thus I conquer time and distance, 
Thus I conquer all love's ills. 



May 11 



48 



PRAYER 

Lord, leave me faith — the great, enduring faith 
Which cannot be destroyed by others' deeds 
Whilst my own love lives on in faithfulness. 
Lord, leave me faith — 

Lord, leave me hope . . the great, enduring hope 
Which soars above all passing, petty wrongs 
And lets me trust to reap what I have sowed. 
Lord, leave mc hope — 

Lord, leave me love — the great, enduring love 
Which is but life itself, that royally 
Gives out its best and asks for no return. 
Lord, leave me love — 

April 25 



Ah^ that I might adore God in his creatures^ 
Bow to his image in love and in worship. 
Glean a new faith in divine beauty and goodness 
As revealed in the loved. 



SONGS OF OTHERS 



TRANSLATION FROM DANTE 

So pure, so gentle shows herself to be 
My lady when bestowing her salute, 
Every tongue grows tremulously mute 
The very eyes misdoubt their right to see. 
Hearing the praise sung in her high repute. 
She passes clad in kind humility, 
A gift to earth from Heaven seemeth she. 
Proving God's miracles beyond dispute. 
She shows herself so pleasing, through the eye 
A sudden sweetness on the heart descends 
That none may know unless such bliss he prove. 
And from her lips a spirit seems to move 
Which graciousness and love into one blends, 
And to the soul ever more whispers : ' ' Sigh ! " 

April 26 



53 



TO DANTE 

In the clear face of the woman beloved 
He saw the image of God the Almighty, 
Worshipped in one the divine and the human, 
In ecstatic devotion. 

Beauty and goodness in final completion 
Are beyond reach of man's poor understanding 
That with uncertain and limited vision 
Cannot want what it knows not. 

That which is fairest of all in creation, 
Beauty and goodness united in woman, 
First must awaken the soul's ardent longing 
For the Maker's perfection. 

Thus through his love did his faith grow more 

perfect. 
Thus through his faith did his love grow more 

perfect. 
Through the clear face of the woman beloved 
Came supreme revelation. 

Bliss beyond equal in human experience. 
Mystical joys only known to the chosen, 
Ecstasy blended of love and religion 
Changing earth into heaven. 



54 



Ah, that I might adore God in his creatures, 
Bow to his image in love and in worship, 
Glean a new faith in divine beauty and goodness 
As revealed in the loved. 

Shaken is faith to its very foundation 
When I see God who created in freedom, 
Masters of destinies for good and evil, 
Mar the work of his hands. 

Sorrow I take and I feel no rebellion, 
Washing my sins with the tears of repentance, 
Chastened on earth for the life everlasting, 
To the rod meekly bending. 

Yet — leave me faith in your merciful power, 
Mar not your image beyond all redemption. 
Or by the fruit that I reap I shall judge you. 
Unbelieving forever ! 

ApriIv 11 



55 



LIFE 

Why give us life when it comes as an evil 
Not to be conquered, delayed or evaded, 
Sprung from the merciless whim of a power 
Who creates for destruction? 

And I wonder and wonder at sin and at sorrow 
Summing up life for most human existence, 
Challenge the God who conceived and created 
All life's woe uncompelled. 

Why take life from us when bom as a blessing, 
Why doom the creatures of joy and of sunlight, 
To death's drear darkness and loathesome cor- 
ruption, 
Or to love's ceaseless mourning? 

And I wonder and wonder, for could I achieve it 
How I should flood the sad world with sheer glad 

ness, 
Leave life a blessing to those who are joyful, 
Send death's peace to the weary. 

April 12 



56 



THE FOOLISH VIRGIN 

I had a vision of her fair and frail, 

Too fair, too frail, poor child, for her own weal, 

When God unevenly matched beauty and strength. 

The charm of beauty cast a spell on life. 

Banishing sternness, leaving her young strength 

To wane to weakness, wasted in disuse. 

For men are ever selfish, they bring joy 

When joy comes back to them a grateful flame 

Which quick' ning stirs and sooths their sluggish 

heart. 
And then they spare no effort, count no cost. 
But how was she to know? She blessed the care 
Which tempered ev'ry healthful hard'ning blast. 
How could she seek the sorrow she ignored. 
Because perchance it might have made her strong? 
So she met joy with joy in simple faith. 
Basking full joyously in life and light. 
God's hand had made her like the fleeting clouds 
Who taking in the rosy molten gold, 
Born out of loving ling'ring sunset rays, 
With borrowed radiance charm the happy sky, 
Yet fade to darkness with the source of light. 
Ah, had her strength been such to grow apace 
With the fond faith that throve on undisturbed, 
Making her weakness an alluring charm. 
None would have dared to say that she was bad, 
They said she trusted blindly, was too weak, 
Weak as a woman whom relenting fate 
Has not through somber sorrow steeled to strength. 
And when the time came for a sterner need, 
She was all unprepared, and so she fell, 
A Foolish Virgin, one who thoughtlessly 
Had lighted life to pleasure with her lamp. 
Improvident of need in future days, 



57 



Holding no fear that when she told her want 
She might meet one who would deny her aid, 
Dooming her to despair, darkness, and death. 

I had a vision of her as she lay 

A childish, simple victim of her fate. 

A silver mist around her softened all, 

Whilst the dim phantom of eternal Joy, 

vStill hovered near her, keeping faithful watch. 

Even in death she was not Sorrow's own, 

With one swift moment's power he could kill, 

But could not chain her to his chariot drawn 

By ceaseless efforts of the struggling strong. 

Sorrow withdrew and left her to kind Death, 

And to sweet Peace who closed her startled eyes. 

Pillowed the tired head against her breast. 

And kissed the smile her lips had not unlearned. 

She lay wrapped in the vaguest, lightest hues, 

Such as at twilight beautify the sky, 

Unmatched even by flowers on the earth. 

The setting sun, the sun of joy and life. 

Left a reflected radiance on her hair. 

The golden hair of legend and of myth. 

Her fragile hand which could not steer life's bark 

Had drooped beside her, emptied of its hoard 

Of fragrant blossoms fading by her side 

The lovely emblem of her own sweet death. 

And at her feet lay the now useless lamp 

Which at the time of need refused its flame, 

And flaunted now its charred and blackened wick ; 

The one dark value, telling its short tale 

Of sad improvidence and foolish faith. 

The only sin her little life had known, 

So small a sin, I scarce could call it such. 

My heart cried out against the punishment, 

And wondered at the sternness of her God. 



58 



And then my vision showed a legend lit 
In flaming letters on the silver mist, 
" She was a Foolish Virgin, those are wise 
' ' Who, steeled by sorrow and uncertainty, 
* ' Trusting to none to help them in their need, 
' ' Letting the need of none stand in their way, 
" Are ever ready — ever hard and wise." 

I bowed my head and breathed a fervent prayer, 
To Him who sent that child first life, then death, 
Who gave her love and beaut}^ without strength. 
For me he had not spared, ruthless his rod 
Had fallen, killing joy and tender faith. 
Giving me rank amiong the sad and strong. 
And now I prayed I might be spared the price 
Of such a wisdom, never grow too wise, 
And never doom a joyous foolish child 
To death and darkness, saving my own oil. 

April 2 



59 



FREEDOM 

When Italy was fighting for her own 

The glorious fi-ght which made the country one, 

Some Lombard boys swayed by the Austrian rule 

Were sent to face Italians like a foe. 

It was a cruel, a uselessly cruel deed, 

To foreign provinces they might have gone 

And still served the oppressor with their arm. 

But those poor peasant bo)^s had in themselves 

The power which no tyranny can bend, 

And when the bloody battle had been fought 

They wrenched the highest triumph from defeat. 

The Italian victors, searching for their dead, 
Found the young Lombard boys lying side by side. 
Death had enshrouded them in glorious peace, 
No trace of struggle lay upon their brow. 
They had obe3^ed their orders, they had gone 
Unflinching to the front, but not one ball 
Had their hand fired against the dear foe. 
And thus, through death they won their victory, 
And through oppression won their glorious fame. 

Others have told this tale in other words, 
I clothe it with my own to meet my need. 
We may be forced to meet loved ones in war, 
In strife and bitterness against our will. 
But, like those peasant boys in their distress, 
When facing the dear foe, we need not fire. ^ 

Dear Italy, land I long for so much. 
Claim me your own, your own forevermore. 
Your own, like those dear lads who died for you, 
And taught to us that he who fears not death 
Is ever free — and master of his deeds. 

March 6 



60 



IGNIS FATUUS 
In 1849 

In the dark, quiet valley far below, 
Wrapped in its veil of silence and of night, 
The battle of Novara had been fought 
But a short while before. The Martyr King, 
Saddest of kings, had here renounced his crown 
That Italy might still come to her own. 
How many blighted hopes, how many lives 
In the full bloom of youth and joy were lost, 
How many mourners, saddened with the loss 
Of dear ones fallen in the battle's rage, 
And stricken lower still with bitter grief 
That all the sacrifice had been in vain, 
That Italy lay still in foreign bonds ! 

I stood and watched — when suddenly behold, 
A ghostly light flashed out into the night. 
Then disappeared, and then appeared again, 
And with it myriads of other lights. 
Flickering forwards, backwards, now apart. 
Now massed together in a sudden maze, 
Just like the soldiers, who had fallen here 
And slept below them now the sleep of death, 
Had struggled with the foe in mortal strife. 
And the dark trees that loomed up in the night 
Took wondrous shapes, and seemed to gain weird 

life, 
Like still and solemn judges, holding court 
Over those troubled, unavenged souls. 



61 



They told me then, the spirit of the dead 

Could find no rest in their unfinished task, 

And restlessly renewed the bitter fight 

In which their life had barrenly been lost. 

The day when Italy at last was free, 

They should find peace and rest forevermore. 

In 1905 

I stood and looked into the silent night, 

Into the peaceful valley far below, 

No ignis fatiiiis leaped in the gloom. 

And from my heart arose a fervent prayer, 

A fervent hymn of gratitude and joy. 

Those precious lives have not been lost in vain, 

Those troubled spirits can now rest in peace. 

For Italy is one, herself again 

Growing to the glorv of her ancient davs. 

March 26 



•2 



THE WEEDS 

He did not know it was a lying tale 

The fawning beggar poured into his ear, 

And so he listened grave and pitiful. 

The daily mite, his to dole out, was gone. 

Long since received by other pleading hands, 

And he stood all too poor to meet such want. 

Reluctant to refuse, for he was born 

To give his all in joyous charity. 

And from his rank claim but one privilege. 

To be not one who asks, but one who gives. 

A true patrician child, if worldly rank 

Were always matched with worth of heart and 

mind. 
And so he stood, regretful and perplexed. 
Till a quick thought brought out a sunny smile, 
A loving glow into his changing eyes. 
A fragrant burden filled his little arms, 
With wondrous blossoms — tulips, violets, 
Anemones and purple hyacinths, 
Jonquils and daffodils in white and gold. 
Culled for his mother in the Tuscan fields. 
All that was still his own, he need not send 
The beggar emptyhanded on his way. 
But when he trustingly held out his gift. 
The beggar dashed the flowers to the ground 
And crushed them with his foot in bitter wrath, 
Hurled curse on curse at the astonished child — 
He asked for money, he did not want weeds. 
Weeds fit for cattle, not for Christian men. 
The gentle child had met with naught but love, 
And in pure human love his gift was made, 
He knew of flowers that they stood for joy, 
The joy he brought and which came back to him, 
Yet now they called forth curses, were deemed 

weeds. 



63 



Startled and sad he could not understand. 
We offered brother what to us seemed fair, 
Alas, we met no need, we gave no joy. 
And failure brought us barren bitterness. 
A little child, you could not understand, 
But in the school of life I should grow wise, 
And wonder not they deem my flowers weeds. 

March 27 



«4 



THE MEANING OF WORDS 

" Baby is dead, " they told me, " God has sent 

' ' His angels for him. Heaven claims him now. 

" Your little brother is an angel, too. " 

I listened silent, but without dismay, 

Death had no meaning for me, save perhaps, 

The gloom which fell upon our silent house. 

No play, no lessons through the endless day. 

Lonely I went about till evening fell 

And then I chanced into the sunny room 

Which had been Baby's own, which he had shared 

With little Lucy, youngest of us all. 

Lucy was playing, a little child of three, 

And when I came her joyful treble cried : 

' ' Baby is dead, they say, Baby is dead. " 

The nurses talked, the child went on in play, 

I from the window looked upon the sea, 

The sun was setting — over the deep blue 

Gold clouds banked up into a glorious arch. 

I was a little child and fancy toyed 

And wove a pretty story with grim death. 

' * The angels made the arch, and Baby steps 

" Just now from earth to heaven across the sea. " 

And, distantly, I heard the nurses talk, 

I heard them speak of burial without heed, 

Then, suddenly, a cry of shrill dismay : 

' * They must not bury Baby, he is mine, 

' * They must not put him in a deep, black hole 

* ' Down in the earth ! They must not, he is mine. ' ' 

It had meant nothing to her : " Baby is dead, '* 

But burial meant to her a deep, black hole 

In which to lie in darkness and in fear. 

They calmed the child, and a few playful words 

Made her forget — still such a little child. 

But I stood all alone, none thought of me. 



65 



The sun had set, the arch of gold was gone, 

And with it the sweet fancy of angels sent 

To bear the little lad to God above. 

I trembled with new knowledge of stem death, 

I wanted Baby, he was also mine, 

I feared the darkness and the deep, black hole. 

Silent and shivering I stood alone 

With the grim knowledge I could not forget. 

March 11 



I watched her from the deck — A southern child, 
One of a crowd of weary emigrants. 
Unconscious of her beauty, only intent 
On conquering the mass of glorious hair 
Which fell around her like a dusky cloud, 
Or the black billows of a stormy sea. 
A wondrous burden for so slight a form, 
Ironic whim of nature's lavishness. 
To give so royally and leave such want. 
Her beauty thrilled my soul, my feasted eyes 
Had no desire beyond what she gave, 
Entranced I stood and learned what beauty means 

March 25 



66 



CHAUCER VS. BOCCACCIO 

When in new garb the Other's tale he clad, 
And from the Other's best his best he drew, 
He was a conscious worker and he knew 
Where more improving tales were to be had, 
Less great, less vivid, above all less true. 
But also less what you, perchance, call bad. 
Yet he did not object, indeed was glad 
Just of the very naughtiness you rue. 
He gorged himself with the forbidden food, 
Spun out in full love's sensuous, happy night. 
Let vice laugh merrily and virtue fall. 
Why call the Other vile, him good and true ? 
They trod one path, were guided by one light, 
Sought good and bad alike and used it all. 

April 8 



67 



You choose the chaff and you cast off the grain 
When your faith argues in its own defense. 
BHnd, bUnd, forever bUnd ! Oh httle souls 
Who strive to prove the existence of your God 
When you can never, never prove your own. 
Say you beheve, beheve because you hve, 
You know you Hve, though you can bring no proof 
And, though unproven, none denies you exist. 
Be bold, be brave, say reason is not all, 
Say faith illumines reason, reason faith. 
Cling to your faith, but speak of faith alone 
To bear the final burden of the proof. 
Science itself must bow before belief. 
You think you bring firm evidence of fact? 
Bring final evidence that man exists! 
When you can prove that you and I exist. 
Then, only then, attempt the greater proof 
Of the existence of God, Lord of All. 
Till then be humble, above all, be true. 
If God is Supreme Truth, it is his will 
That you should speak no word beyond the truth. 
Those who believe not, bow before the truth. 
The truth is in yourself, your humble faith 
Brings help to you and others. Your vain boast 
Awakens my sad scorn. Say you believe — 
But don't attempt the battle like the fool 
Who throws his weapons from him ere he fights. 

March 2 



68 



jTou see my point? 
And don't you thinky perhaps you II understand? 



A CURIOUS WORLD 



This is a curious world, unjust and hard, 
And never more than when the harassed soul 
Pleads for one moment's peace, one moment's rest, 
In which to gather strength to live or die. 

I can forgive the bitter suffering 

Which crushes my poor strength and saps my life, 

Yes, freely, fully forgive all to all. 

Yet now this curious world, unjust and hard, 

Passes a judgment pitifully strange ; 

Absolved are all those who did the wrong, 

Absolved those who let the wrong be done, 

And I alone am left to chide and blame, 

Because I suffer and cannot forget. 

I have no strength left for my self defense 
Leave me alone then, let me die in peace. 
Foreign to you in wishes, thoughts and deeds. 
In a sweet calm you cannot understand. 
So then farewell, and with no bitter thoughts. 
Thanks for the gifts you gave in bygone days, 
When you would gladly give to one who had. 
My memory shall feed on those past times. 
Cast thoughts of present ills from me like chaff, 
And chose like golden grain that which once was. 



To those dear friends who once gave love for love, 
To those who hated without cause for hate, 
I say farewell — now leave me to my doom, 
Leave me alone and let me die in peace. 

March 24 



71 



THE PAST 

The Present flees ere we can breath its name, 
One flash of thought makes out of it the Past, 
The Past that never dies, but must Uve on 
Not to be changed by will of God or man. 
The Past is ever with us, our today 
But reaps the fruit of seeds sowed days gone by. 
Irrevocably too tomorrow is made 
By every deed of yesterday and today. 
And thus we live — the Present fleeting by. 
Leaving the Future ever beyond grasp. 
The Past alone with us, for us to hold 
In Good and Evil always our own. 

No idler words than : ' ' Break off with the Past, 
" Forget it all, begin your life again !" 
Ah, that 'twere possible to forget all. 
And begin life again a little child, 
A very little child, unburdened still 
By grief whose purpose none can understand. 
But Ufe would have to stop and childhood stay 
Forever with us, granting us that boon. 
That sweetest boon, the power to forget 
Each day what the preceding day has held. 
For now, though I should do just what you bid, 
(An idle granting of what cannot be), 
Yet if a new existence I should found. 
Should I not soon build up a Past again 
Which the same world would render just as sad? 
In a vain struggle I should spend my days, 
Trying to destroy the Past which lives in me, 
And trying to clear my Future of the weeds 
Whose seed has taken root so long ago 
That ev'ry thing since early childhood's days 
Would have to be erased from my life's book 



72 



Before I e'er could hope to reach your goal. 

If I could change the world, could change myself, 

Could make that which has been cease to have 

been, 
Then I could mould my Future, then I could 
Begin my life anew — what it has held 
Would be no burden far beyond my strength. 
But now Past, Present, Future, are all one. 
One foe that knows no mercy or reprieve. 
And if you bring no help, at least forbear, 
And do not mock me with those idle words. 

March 18 



73 



THE MUDTURTLE AND THE ERMINE 

And it dawned upon me that it might be an idio- 
syncracy to object if friends^ enemies or newspapers 
threw dirt at you. — From the Reflections of a Fh. D. 

A nice little mudturtle, 
The muddiest ever seen, 
Thought it would be just horrid 
If she were ever clean. 

A silly little ermine, 
With fur as white as snow. 
Thought that one spot upon her 
Would prove a mortal blow. 

Mudturtles are the wisest, 
But — I appeal to you — 
If we do feel like ermines, 
What on earth can we do ? 

March 17 



74 



THE QUEER FLORENTINE AND THE 
LITTLE CANDLE 

'-''Napoleon and Dante sprang J rom the same race 
and both had an idomitable wit/, were indeed ^much- 
obstinate persons,^ Little 77ien of the same race have 
shown the same characteristics.'" — From the Reflections 
of a Fh. D. 

You say you cannot get my point of view, 

And that you really cannot understand. 

So now, my friends, I'll tell a little tale 

Which gives my point of view. If you can learn 

My lesson, it may help another's need. 

If not, as usual . . you won't understand. 

The greatest of all men who e'er could claim 

Fair Florence as the cradle of their race, 

Italian, Tuscan, Florentine in one, 

(Just like myself, you see, though he was great 

And I am not, and don't expect to be,) 

Well, he was queer! When factions split the 

town 
In bitter feud, he would not join the strife. 
But formed a party all unto himself, 
And thus just got the worst from ev'ry side, 
For they all turned against him, drove him forth 
Into the bitter exile where he died. 
I cannot see that they had any grounds 
For such a cruel sentence, save perhaps 
They just deemed it expedient. (Here again 
I claim something in c^mm-^n, though of course, 
I know I'm just as small as he was great.) 
The years rolled on, in bitter exile spent, 
He yearned to see his native town again, 
To be again with those of his own blood. 



75 



(Once more, you see, we meet on common grounds 

Though he was very great, as I have said.) 

He longed to have his exile take an end. 

At last he got his chance, a lovely chance 

Some people must have thought, a pardon gained 

Full easily they only asked of him 

That he should face the image of Saint John, 

The Florentines' beloved patron saint, 

Amongst some pardoned, petty criminals, 

Holding a little candle in his hand. 

Yet he who yearned for Florence with a love 

Passing all words, why, he refused to come. 

He shunned the shame, though it was undeser\'ed, 

And would not stand, a candle in his hand, 

Where he had hoped to wear the laurel wreath. 

I told you he was queer — with his great mind, 

He should have thought the candle just a joke, 

And never let the ojffer of that light 

Cast deeper gloom upon his weary soul. 

He should have shaken off the bitter past. 

Saint John, candle and thieves in one big lump, 

And started life again like a brave man. 

Instead he died in exile, just because 

He would not face Saint John, the patron saint 

Amid the thieves — a candle in his hand. 

I do not know what makes us all so queer, 
Perhaps it comes just from the Florence air, 
But our pride acts up, strong and perverse, 
In great and small alike. You see my point? 
And don't vou think, perhaps you'll understand? 

March 29 



76 



Ah, but the irony of it, the bitter deception of 

friendship. 
Ready to give fulsome praise, yet evasive in 

thought and in action, 
Glad of the help, they presume, will be lavishly 

given by others, 
Always elusive, evasive — the emptiest platitude 

only 
Answering calls from the heart, despairing in 

passionate sorrow, 
Answering calls from the soul in its loneliness and 

its rebellion. 
Ah, but the irony of it — the bitter deception of 

friendship, 
Ever too fulsome in praise, yet evasive in thought 

and in action. 

March 29 



77 



THE UNLEARNED TONGUE 

" // takes 7nore than a knowledge of their language 
to understand what people say.''"' — From the Reflections 
of a Ph. D. 

A babe I lisped in English my first words. 
Since then there is no time when the dear tongue 
Has not seemed mine to use just as my own, 
With freedom and with love and without fear 
I might not understand or be understood. 
Indeed, as I progressed in earnest work, 
As other languages lent further aid. 
And Anglo-Saxon, Latin and Old French 
Revealed the fuller meaning of each word, 
English seemed dearer to me, more my own. 
I never dreamed then that the day might come 
When I should puzzle, wonder in dismay 
If I could understand the talk they talked, 
If I could grasp the thing they tried to say, 
When is was just plain English that they spoke. 

They said at first: " Without radical change, 

" Circumstances forbid recovery." 

I thought, that as there was no chance of change, 

I never should recover and should die ! 

Alas ! alas ! my English was at fault. 

It was not this that they had meant to say. 

They told me next that if no stimulus, 

Internal or external, could be found 

To make me take a firmer hold on life, 

" I should just fade away . " And as 

I knew 
No stimulus that I could set to work, 
I thought I'd have to fade away and die ! 
Alas! alas! my English was at fault. 
It was not this that they had meant to say. 



78 



And then they said : ' ' Unless you drop your past, 

' ' Forget the love and work which once you had, 

' ' Begin your life anew — like a young spore 

* ' Launched into space without connecting links — 

' ' You will lie there in unrelieved pain, 

" For weeks or months . and then 

you'll have to die!" 
I bowed my head. I did not like the pain, 
But, after all, I did not want to live, 
I took the two together, and I thought 
I never should recover and should die ! 
Alas ! alas ! my English was at fault, 
It was not this that they had meant to say. 

They say now : ' ' Your indomitable will 

' ' Must make you want to live — the world is yours, 

"(Except of course those things that you want 

most), 
' ' You can recover rapidly, go forth 
" To a life richer, happier by far 
' ' Than any that you until now have known. 
' ' This if — if — if — you only will forget, 
' ' If you will drop your past like a hot cake. 
* ' A simple task, one which should not dismay 
' ' A fine and brillant woman like yourself. 
' ' If you do not, then many years of pain, 
" From two to seven, we can't fully tell, 
" Yet surely many, many years of pain 
" Of loneliness, of uselessness, are yours." 
When now I think that since I can't forget 
Since I can't drop my past like a hot cake, 
I must lie seven years in useless pain, 
And never can recover and must die! 

Alas! alas! my English is at fault, 
It is not this at all they mean to say. 

But what they do mean — Heaven only knows ! 

March 18 



79 



TO SOME 

They washed their hands, Hke Pilate long ago, 
They washed their hands, and left me to my fate. 
I judged them harshly, for I was still blind. 
And nearing death had not brought keener sight. 
But now, I only smile, I see full well 
That they who struggle daily to keep clean, 
And wash hands in the flesh ten times a day, 
Cannot conceive that it may not be right 
To wash their hands in spirit and in thought 
As Pilate did — even ten times a day. 
So now I can just smile and not feel hurt. 
But wish for them . . . Chicago had less 
dirt. 

March 25 



80 



They gathered round me, just in fits and starts, 
Never for long, then left me to myself, 
In sombre silence all uncomforted. 
I weaned myself from every longing wish, 
And stifled ev'ry cry of my sad soul. 
Hardened my heart to lack of love and care. 
Now I need none and nothing, I have lost 
Even the vital human need of need. 
They'll think, forsooth, at last that I am strong ! 

April 3 



hi 



I did not want your gold — all that I craved 

Was but the nearness of your heart and mind 

In friendship's natural companionship. 

You have not had the time? I don't reproach, 

I meet you with a smile, a merry word, 

And stifle every yearning to receive 

What I have given others in my day. 

You have no time to give me ? That is well ! 

That wipes out any claim upon my time, 

And I am free at last, joyously free. 

To soar away on the strong wings of death, 

Awav from ev'ry petty human need. 

April 5 



82 



TO F. A. H. 

'^And ignorance seemed a gift beyond price.'' — From 
the Reflections of a Ph. Z>," 

It's a complex situation, 
Only a college mind can grasp, 
A most wondrous complication 
Which makes clever people gasp. 

Lacking ' ' higher education " 
She — not being college-bred — 
Rushed into a situation, 
Where the angels feared to tread. 

My! She spoke of vindication, 
Thought at least that she might try, 
Didn't mind the complication, 
Couldn't see the reason why ! 

Wouldn't mention resignation, 
(As those do who know so much), 
It's a hopeless situation? 
Hopeless? Why? Because it's such. 

And, with righteous indignation, 
(Blessed be the poor in spirit) 
She pretends the complication 
Should be judged upon its merit. 

It's a curious aberration,' 
Due to ignorance, we see. 
(Had she grasped the situation, 
What a tragedy for me!) 



Dear heart — don't forget your nation, 
Are you acting foreign too? 
It's a wondrous complication, 
Grasp that, do not try to do. 

It's a complex complication, 
Only a college mind can grasp 
What? You'll solve the situation, 
While the clever people gasp? 

February 28 



84 



Past loss shall make my future gain, 
Joy shall come last in Sorrow's train. 
Pronounce his rulings void and vain 
And free me from his heavy chain. 
Forever 



CRUMBS 



CRUMBS 



You tell me that I'm butting 
My head against the wall. 
Say, wouldn't it be lovely 
If I could make it fall? 

I know I could recover, 
Get well and strong, and gay 
If I could butt that wall down 
And . . . throw the bricks away. 

Yet, if my head gets broken, 
And I land in my grave. 
Then — low the word be spoken — 
What trouble it will save ! 

March 1 

II 
MARGERY AT BAY 

It was true, she was bom in far China — that 
would not have been very sad. 

If he had not pursued her about it, and made her 
feel awfully bad. 

But he teased and he mocked and he worried, un- 
til in her childish despair, 

She just stamped very hard with her footies, and 
pulled out the big cousin's hair. 

Then he told her she could not speak English, and 
told her besides if you please. 

None should say to her: " Dear little Yankee!" 
but: " Dearest of little Chinese!" 



Yet she stopped all his teasing and mocking, when 
at last she cried out in her anger : 

Would you ever call Jesus a pony, because he was 
bom in a manger? " 

March 31 

III 

THE PRETTY CLASSMATE 

When she first came, so eager and so bright. 

She made each moment's work seem sheer delight. 

And all he knew of fun and play seemed naught 
To the full joy of life which next she taught. 

But then, alas, she stole his heart away — 
And thus unfitted him for work and play! 

March 31 

IV 

THAT'S ALL! 

He stated his big sister had been held 

At the baptismal font by one who knew 

Full sixty languages. And challenged 

By unbelieving Grownups: " Sixty, child! 

" Did you say sixty?" Quietly replied: 

" Yes, only sixty. I guess that is all!" 

April 3 

LOFC. 



V 

LIFE AND JOY 

Since Life deprived of Joy has little worth, 
Since Joy apart from Life can draw no breath, 
Why should they not be one ? Begin at birth. 
And never part until the time of death ! 

April 4 

VI 

FRIENDSHIP 

When the red autumn leaves drop from the trees, 
Do the bare boughs rebel at Nature's law? 
Mourn their vast scattered treasure which they see 
Wasted by windstorms, rioting and raw ? 

I watch the leaves of Friendship as they fall 
Whirled by the wind of vSorrow. Some still cling, 
Faithful in loneliness, dearest of all 
For the last touch of comfort that they bring. 

April 4 



VII 



Past loss shall make my future gain, 
Joy shall come last in Sorrow's train, 
Pronounce his rulings void and vain 
And free me from his heavy chain, 

Forever ! 

April 



VIII 

MY NEEDS 

I need but little here below, 
But need of that is such, 
Without it I can't make things go, 
I need that little much! 

April 10 



IX 



Courage might fail me if I had to live 
But it is easy, easy and sweet to die, 
I laugh at all the sorrow life can give, 
Since death has promised not to pass me bv. 

April 23 



X 



You think me stronger just because I'm gay, 
And I am gay because I feel life fail, 
Well can I smile when I "just fade away — " 
Had I to live, how I would weep and wail ! 

April 23 



90 



XI 

Diogenes sought for one man in vain 

Yea, though he held a lantern in his hand 

And searched first ways, then by-ways then again 

Each hidden nook where some stray man might 

strand. 
I should remember this and not complain 
When I find men so scarce in this new land, 
And much less hope, as foolishly I do 
To find men who are men . and staunch 

friends too. 

April 30 

XII 

My life is like a lizard — by fate's trick 

Wedded to a most despicable tail 

Of memories, which make it slow and sick. 

Yet all its efforts to cut off this trail 

And run its course untrammeled, gay and quick, 

In space and sunlight, proved of no avail : 

When one tail was cut off another grew, 

Whilst every old one, wriggling, lived on too. 

May 6 



91 



XIII 

CONTENT 

See, how the lovely rose in calm content 
Breathes out unasked her sweetest and her best, 
Deep from her glowing heart whose precious scent 
Is but her gentle love made manifest. 
None gives her gift for gift, yet all intent 
On blessing others she herself is blessed. 
Look then upon the rose — and do not rue 
If your sweet love, poor heart, blesses but you. 

May 10 

XIV 

If loving thoughts all evil could allay. 

My thoughts their might in tender care would 

spend, 
A watchful eager host that night and day 
From harm and ill would your dear life defend. 
Invisibly they'd wield their gentle sway 
In never failing faith and love, sweet friend. 
See, even now they dwell with none but you 
Though there's no earthly good that they can do! 

May 16 



92 



